


Open book

by Blackghost7



Category: NCIS
Genre: Character Study, Childhood, First Time, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:46:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackghost7/pseuds/Blackghost7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has always been an open book to Gibbs. He desperately wants to be able to read Gibbs the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open book

The first few months of Anthony DiNozzo's existence had probably been the happiest months of his life. Too bad he didn't remember them. His mother had been sober - it had taken an effort, but after being sober during most of the pregnancy, she figured she could hold on a little longer - and his father had been doting on having son and heir, and everything seemed like it would work out fine.

But his father's drinking drew his mother back into bad habits, and every time baby Anthony cried - which babies are wont to do, but he certainly cried less than other babies - she left him to the nanny and poured herself another martini. And whenever Anthony Senior got home and found his wife plastered and his son asleep with the nanny beside him, he poured himself a martini too, and wondered what he had done to deserve such a family.

By the time young Anthony became cognizant and started retaining memories, things had deteriorated, but not having anything to compare it too, Anthony didn't know this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He remembers clearly the time he was four and being dressed up in a little sailor suit, his nanny - his fourth, his fifth? - pinching him viciously every time he struggled against her trying to dress him, and then saw her derogatory smile as she stood in the corner while his mother, swaying and already unfocused, cooed over him, slurring how pretty he looked. While he liked his mother's attention, he hated the look in the nanny's eyes and the way his mother didn't actually seem to see him, but then let her take him by the hand and lead him downstairs to show him off to the guests. As they entered the salon, his father, standing by the fireplace with a drink in hand, made a show of letting his eyes light up as his wife and son came in, exclaiming loudly to all present that his life was complete now that his perfect family was here. But Anthony felt his father's fingers dig into his shoulder in silent warning when he was placed in front of him, and he smiled and was quiet, a good little boy. Anthony knew that he had maybe half an hour to spend time with these other people, watch them and listen to them, keeping quiet and moving from one little group to the other, before his father would send him away again, upstairs to the nanny with her wicked pinching fingers and her uncaring, resentful smile.

When Anthony finally went to school and met other children, at first he was exhilarated, not just at being away from the house and the vacuous expression of his mother and the clear disinterest of his nanny, but at being with other people. He enthusiastically tried to get to know them, tried to introduce himself, but the other children already knew each other, had already formed their own groups, and they were not willing to let anyone else in just like that. In class, as they were making drawings, Anthony watched his teacher move around, complimenting some and helping others, brushing her hand through their hair in encouragement here and there, and he couldn't wait until she would finally come to his table, wanted to feel her fingers stroke through his hair and hear her kind words addressed to him. But before she made it to him, the bell rang, and she clapped her hands and told them to put away their things and go out to where their parent were waiting to pick them up, and then she sat down at her desk and started looking through some papers. Anthony cleared away his crayons, grabbed his bag, and then went to her desk, wanting to show her his drawing.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

She looked up after a moment and blinked, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry. Which one were you again?"

And Anthony saw his mother's and his nannies' faces with the same blank expression, and without a word, turned and walked out of the classroom, his drawing crumpling up in his small hands, putting it in the first trash can he passed as he made his way out to the school exit where he knew the driver would be waiting for him. The man scowled at Anthony for being one of the last kids to come out of the school and making him wait.

As soon as they got home, Anthony went to his room and hid himself in there. No one came to look for him, and he spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the corner of his bed, his arms curled around his legs, wondering what was wrong with him that nobody wanted to play with him. His little five-year-old mind was spinning with thoughts, thoughts maybe too deep and insightful for his age, but he already knew not to ask questions. His father didn't like it when Anthony asked questions, and his mother and nanny just sighed and turned away. When the dinner bell rang, Anthony wanted to ignore it, but minutes later his nanny, annoyed and sighing, came into his room and without a word dragged him from the bed, and squeezed his arm painfully while she brought him down the stairs and practically shoved him into the dining room. His father glared at him.

"You're late, Junior."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't…"

"Shut up and sit."

Neither parent asked him about his first day at school. His father ate and drank while reading something, and his mother drank and shoved her food around on her plate without actually eating anything. Almost an hour of silence later, Anthony quietly cleared his throat.

"May I please be excused?"

His father hmmphed. His mother stared out of the dining room window. Anthony went back to his room.

His first weeks at school were a disappointing hell. Nobody wanted to talk to him or play with him, and Anthony had no other choice but to sit and watch and listen. He discovered that if there were sweets to share, the existing little groups of kids would mingle, wander over to the one who had the sweets and interact for a while. If someone had a new toy and was willing to let others play with it, they would cross the invisible boundaries and play together. If someone was doing something fun or funny, the other kids would join in and come together. Anthony didn't have sweets or toys to share, no one at home caring enough to get him any, but when he saw what the other kids thought was funny, he thought he could do that. At home, alone in his room, he thought about what he had seen the other kids do, and he devised a plan. 

Three months after he started going to school, his nanny was suddenly gone. So was the driver, and the butler, and several of the paintings and sculptures that had always adorned the walls and halls of the house where he lived. Anthony wasn't sorry to see them go. And then he was transferred to another school, where there were no drivers to pick up the kids after class, and no one had ever had a nanny, and no one had a cook to pack them lunches. Anthony didn't understand it, but he saw it as a new chance. 

Being transferred midway through the school year meant that he was suddenly in a group of kids who had known each other for months already if not longer, and he saw the same groups had been formed as at his previous school. But this time he didn't try to introduce himself, he just started acting the way he'd seen his previous schoolmates do to get a laugh, and it seemed to work. The kids flocked around him whenever he acted up, laughing and encouraging him. The teachers liked it less, but at least they soon knew his name. That was something.

The third time his parents had been called by the school to inform them that Anthony was out of control, was the first time his father actually struck him. Anthony's cheeks - both sets - burned with shame and anger, but at least his father had finally seemed to acknowledge he was there, seemed to care.

Anthony was moved from school to school, posh ones sometimes, with drivers and nanny's and butlers, other ones in between. But Anthony knew by now how to get people's attention, and he was never short of what he called friends amongst the kids. The adults were a different story, but Anthony couldn't bring himself to care about that too much. Adults had never cared for him. His mother was mostly blank by then, and his father, when not gallivanting around the world, just made his displeasure known with his hands. 

At his mother's funeral, Anthony felt those hands dig into his shoulder again, the way he remembered from when he was four, and he stood there quietly and unmoving, not flinching a muscle or shedding a tear, nothing to draw attention to himself. It was a relief when he was sent away to boarding school a few days later.

Anthony was never short of friends, but the authority figures in his life proved to be a problem. His teachers despaired at his unruly behavior, but after meeting Senior and calling him to task, they started to understand maybe a little. Anthony's record spoke for itself. Mother lost at a relatively young age, moving from school to school constantly, father absent. They tried to look out for Anthony, but every act of kindness was met with derision and incredulity, suspicion and wariness. Anthony grew into a handsome young teen, and he knew how to get attention, and this time not just from his peers, but from girls as well. Anthony got into more than one spot of bother over girls over the years. 

Things changed when he was seventeen and sent to the Rhode Island Military Academy. 

His supervisor there had no patience for handsome young flirts, cared about rules and regulations, and watched the young man twist himself into knots to try and fit in. Perhaps he was the first - one of the very few - who actually saw the real Anthony. He set boundaries, he laid down the law, he gave Anthony reinforcing attention. Anthony flourished, and for once he was not the attention-seeking kid, but a serious and focused young man, valedictorian of his class, a success. If Anthony had known what love was, a parental love, he would have recognized it was what he felt for this man.

After RIMA, Tony - Anthony reminded him too much of his father - went to college. While he certainly enjoyed all the benefits of college girls gone wild and keggers and frat parties, and knew how to get others to like him, his persona having been perfected over the years, he was still serious about his studies. He made his own way, his father having disinherited him long years ago, but he never let it show to his buddies and friends that he was working hard and making a go of it. He had gotten so used to hiding that it never even occurred to him that this was what he was doing constantly now, not just a second skin but his protection, the picture he showed everybody, no matter how close he may feel to them. Never trust anyone. 

The day Tony saved a kid from a fire in Baltimore while out on his run, and made one of the hardest decisions of his life, he decided he needed to be someone. Do some good. Any way he could. 

Tony joined the force and for a few months, it felt like he was back in school. No one seemed to like him, his superiors had problems with him, and Tony the frat-boy came more and more to the forefront in response. He hated it, but couldn't help himself. It caused him to leave Philly, and Peoria, until he finally settled back in Baltimore again. 

Danny was a great partner, able to withstand Tony's joking to hide his insecurities, and when Tony met up with Wendy again and they settled into a relationship, Tony felt like for the first time in his life, he was being taken seriously as an adult. That fantasy came crashing down around him when Danny turned out to be dirty, Wendy turned out to not love him the way he loved her, and that night Tony started on the path from being Detective Tony DiNozzo, screw-up, class clown, all-around good guy to have fun with but nothing more, to being Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Jr., still a class clown and all-around good guy, but with a resolve and steely determination underneath that had been hidden for so long. All over the Navy Guy come to town.

It took Tony only a few days of working together to realize that Leroy Jethro Gibbs saw right through him. It took him a little longer to - not so much realize but… - accept that Leroy Jethro Gibbs saw right through him, and still thought he was worth keeping around. In some ways, that alone was enough to bolster his self esteem, but still he craved the praise that Gibbs so seldom gave. Gibbs reminded him somewhat of his supervisor at RIMA, with his rules and boundaries and orders, but where at RIMA Tony's exemplary behavior had been openly rewarded, Gibbs didn't insist on Tony behaving like the perfect agent as long as he got the job done. Gibbs let Tony joke and flirt and play, only stopping him when it became too much, and Tony wondered about that, until he realized that his behavior was useful to Gibbs. It made the two of them come across as different sides of the same coin, and people never knew what to expect. People also seemed to forget that while they may be different sides, they were still the same coin. Many a suspect discovered that fact in interrogation when Gibbs laughed out loud as Tony got the job done with his antics, or when the talkative playing from Tony suddenly turned to steel after getting his confession.

Their team grew, first Viv, then Cait and McGee, and it changed the dynamics, the way they worked. But while Gibbs let them all bicker and joke at times before he put a stop to it with a bark, his tolerance of it from Tony was higher than with the others, something Cait and McGee found difficult to understand. But Tony understood. Because just like Gibbs could see through Tony, Tony could by then see through Gibbs. He knew each quirk of eyebrows, each pull at the corner of the mouth, each soft sigh, and he knew what they meant. Good job, Tony. Settle down now, Tony. Well done, Tony. I'm proud of you, Tony. Gibbs hardly ever said it with words, but Tony could read them on Gibbs' face anyway. The same was true for the head slaps. While all of them were of course to draw his focus, many of them said much more. I won't laugh but that was funny, Tony; now get back to work. Stop letting them get to you, Tony. You had me worried about you, Tony; don't do that again. That last one was usually followed by Gibbs' fingers lingering in Tony's hair for a second, and Tony always had to hide his smile. None of the others understood, but Tony could read each slap like an open book. 

It took years before Tony finally understood the way he really felt about Gibbs, and when at last he did, he was almost grateful that it had taken him so long. Because if he had known from the beginning, he never could have stayed with Gibbs, knowing that the older man could read it in him. He wondered if Gibbs knew, had known it all along even though Tony himself had been blind to it, but while he could read Gibbs' reactions clearly, this remained a mystery. At first, Tony tried to see if Gibbs responded to him differently now that Tony knew, but Gibbs never did. Then Tony tried to let it go, but his longing only grew, his desire to read Gibbs in other ways than he had all these years.

Gibbs cleared away the plates and returned from the kitchen with two fresh beers in hand, and Tony got up from the couch, stopping Gibbs from sitting down, taking the beers from his hand and placing them on the coffee table. Gibbs' raised eyebrow was easy enough to read.

"I'm going to do something, Boss, and I need you to respond honestly."

"I never lie to you, DiNozzo."

"I know, Boss. Just, please… don't start lying to me now."

Slowly and carefully, Tony placed his hand on the back of Gibbs' neck, his thumb softly brushing through the short hairs on the back of Gibbs' head. His other hand found its way to Gibbs' hip, the thumb softly stroking over the hipbone concealed beneath denim. Keeping his eyes open, Tony leaned in and gently let his lips meet Gibbs', nibbling first on the lower lip and then the upper, before sliding them fully together in a soft kiss. His eyes were fixed on Gibbs', trying to read them, and after a few moments he drew back with a grunt of frustration. Gibbs' face was impassive, his eyes unreadable, and Tony had never been so uncertain of what Gibbs was thinking. He withdrew his hands and rubbed them through his own hair, watching Gibbs for anything, any response at all. He saw nothing.

"Did you get what you were looking for, DiNozzo?"

Tony huffed.

"You know I didn't."

"Then let me make things clear."

Before Tony got the chance to worry about that, Gibbs' hands were on him. They trailed slowly through Tony's hair, down to the sides of his face, Gibbs' thumbs brushing over his cheeks, then along the sides of his neck to his shoulders. They slid down softly over Tony's chest, pausing for a moment to register his wildly beating heart, then further down to his abdomen. They caressed along the waistband of Tony's jeans, resting on his hips for a few moments as Gibbs' thumbs found their way under his shirt and softly stroked the skin just above the denim, then slid further to the back until Gibbs' fingers disappeared into the back pockets of Tony's jeans. Tony stood panting breathlessly, his eyes fixed on Gibbs, but still couldn't read him. He scrunched his nose in frustration. Then finally, Gibbs let out a soft laugh, his voice low and husky, but amused, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Still not clear?"

"Gibbs…?"

And Gibbs pulled them together, hands still on Tony's jeans-covered ass, and softly made their lips meet again. Tony's eyes closed automatically as he let himself be kissed and his hands curled at Gibbs' waist, pulling them closer together still. When he felt Gibbs' arousal against his own, his eyes flew open again, and there it was. He withdrew from the kiss, but kept their bodies pressed together, and finally he could read this side of Gibbs.

The soft crinkle at the corner of Gibbs' eye, the way his head was slightly tilted to the side, the way one eyebrow was minutely raised. The soft breath that mingled with his own, the slightly reddened lips, the gentle caress of fingers against his ass. The twinkle in the blue orbs fixed on him, the twitch of the arousal pressed against his own, the rapid heartbeat he could feel against his chest and saw pulsing in Gibbs' neck. It all said the same thing.

I want you.

Tony swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"You have me, Gibbs."

Gibbs stared at him for a few seconds, his head tilting minutely further. Tony knew what that meant.

You've almost got it, Tony. Almost. Look a little deeper.

But then Tony's hips bucked involuntarily and they pressed together even more, and Tony's breath hitched in his throat.

"Gibbs, please…"

With a sigh, Gibbs leaned in again, their mouths meeting for the third time. And this time they both participated, their lips melting together before they opened and their tongues found each other, soft moans of need and want and more escaping both of them. When Tony started pushing Gibbs backwards, towards the stairs, Gibbs let him. Reaching the bottom step, Gibbs pulled back and looked at Tony again, apparently satisfied with what he saw, because he took Tony's hand and guided him upstairs and into the bedroom. They left their clothes in a heap on the floor at the foot of the bed and crawled onto the mattress, their hands caressing naked skin, their lips finding and playing with the sensitive spots they discovered. Tony kissed and caressed his way down Gibbs neck and chest, nipping softly at his belly and then his inner thighs, before finally his mouth descended on Gibbs' arousal and he got his first taste. He moaned with pleasure and desire, the vibrations sending shivers down Gibbs' spine, and Gibbs' fingers found their way into Tony's hair again, drawing more moans of pleasure from the younger man at the touch. When it almost became too much, Gibbs nudged Tony off of him and reversed their positions, his mouth and hands following the same path over Tony's body as Tony's had taken over his. 

Tony's eyes closed and he threw his head back into the pillows when Gibbs' mouth closed around him, and he writhed and moaned wantonly, his fingers curling alternately in Gibbs' hair and in the sheets. When he heard the click of the bottle of lube, he held his breath in anticipation, only to let it out in a low moan when he finally felt Gibbs' fingers first circling and then breaching him. Gibbs was careful but relentless, his fingers stretching Tony patiently while his mouth and tongue played with him, and when Tony was begging desperately and Gibbs felt he was ready, the older man slowly kissed his way up Tony's body again to settle himself on top of him. Lining himself up, Gibbs waited.

"Look at me, Tony."

It took Tony a few moments before he was able to comply, but then he opened his eyes and fixed them on Gibbs. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw, and then Gibbs sank into him. Buried to the hilt, Tony's legs tight around him, Gibbs leaned on his elbows, staring down at his lover. Tony swallowed again, looking up in wonder, then smiled and brushed his fingers over Gibbs' cheek.

"You love me."

"You love me too, Anthony."

"Did you always know I did?"

Gibbs shook his head a little.

"You hid it well."

"I didn't know."

"You always were good at hiding, even from yourself."

Tony chuckled softly, but when the movement caused Gibbs to move inside of him a little, the chuckle dissolved into a moan.

"Much as I enjoy you actually talking for a change, can you please move now?"

This time it was Gibbs who chuckled, then moaned when Tony bucked up his hips.

"Right. Move now, talk later."

And Tony closed his eyes in bliss when Gibbs drew back and pushed back in, starting a slow and deep rhythm that drove Tony insane and had him begging for more and harder until Gibbs changed his angle a little and Tony's eyes flew open again, seeing stars when Gibbs hit him just right over and over. When he felt himself getting close, Tony reached between them and started stroking himself, drawing Gibbs down with his other hand for another breathless kiss, breaking away from the kiss only when he came with a soundless cry. The beautiful sight and the feeling of his lover tightening around him made Gibbs lose control, and moments later he spilled himself into Tony, muffling his cry in the crook of Tony's neck before he collapsed on top of him.

After dozing for a while, Tony happily curled around Gibbs, they finally got up and showered together. Gibbs' hands caressed Tony, his eyes smiled at Tony, his lips soothed Tony, and Tony couldn't believe that he'd never been able to read this before. Because every touch and every movement said the same thing.

I love you, Tony.

And from then on, Tony just grinned whenever anyone said Gibbs was difficult to read, to get to know, to understand. Because to Tony, Gibbs was an open book, and after each head slap, each bark, each raised eyebrow, Tony just looked at Gibbs for a second and knew what his lover read from him.

I love you too, Jethro.


End file.
